


Want

by Ladycat



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Bruises, Conditioning, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, M/M, Porn, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is what you've wanted." The words are the same as before, but Spike can hear them now. He can see them, shimmering in the air as he bucks back into Xander's hips, begging for more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want

I'd love to break Spike, to make him scream and hurt and love every fucking seconds of it, though. Like slowly, which I can never really write. Conditioning, which is my second-favorite kink of all time.

Where Spike doesn't even realize that he's been taking little bits of pain and some pleasure from Xander, like slaps when Spike's done something Xander considers wrong, ones he snarls and fights and hates, but gradually comes to expect. And sometimes the slaps aren't just on his arm, or his forehead, or the back of his head, hard enough that he sways, but on his ass. And they aren't always Xander's hand, but a bit of wood - which is utterly terrifying, though Spike'll never admit it - or the leather flogger that Xander kept after Anya left, the one he uses over Spike's jeans. And Spike **snarls** and rages like a wild thing, accusing Xander of being kinky and perverted, of going to his friends to get the boy in trouble for mistreating a prisoner.

But he doesn't. And Xander just steps up the abuse, punishing Spike when he thinks it's appropriate, even accusing Spike of **thinking** the wrong thing and using that as an excuse.

And Spike knows it's an excuse, knows this game for what it is, but he can't seem to think about it in his head, really. Or even at all. His bones know it, his cock loves it, but his head can't get over **Xander Harris** glaring at him for the towels Spike had purposefully left on the floor - after fighting for a minute or two to pick them back up again, his hands **aching** to feel the rough toweling - and snapping "You're such a fucking ass, Spike. Pick them up **now** and take your pants off."

And that's new, totally different and Spike doesn't bother wondering or being surprised or thinking at all, because he's already picking up the towels, absently folding them before dumping them in the hamper, sliding off pants he'd never removed in front of Xander before and turning to lean against the table, arse thrust out, pretty and exposed and he trembling. he doesn't know his cock is hard, because all he's thinking about is the sound of Xander's voice, how **angry** he is, the way his own Da used to be when William fucked up this or that, a hint of resignation at the need for correction and Spike wants it so badly he won't even consider the possibility.

The first slap is with the whip, cracking over his arse like a knife, cutting into pale, pale skin. Spike cries out, "Fucker!" because even if he's not thinking, some things are automatic.

Xander responds by **kicking him** in the arse, leaving a boot print Spike knows will last for days, and the shock of that empties Spike's head of any possible words or actions or anything but hanging on to the damned table, panting and shivering like he can't make up his mind if it's the sahara or the damned arctic.

Another whip lash, then two, and three, and **ten** and Spike's creeling, pained little sounds with each breath he doesn't need, rocking back into each fiery strip painted over his buttocks. He can hear Xander murmuring, the definition lost, but he's nodding, some part of him hearing and understanding and saying _yes, yes, of course, yes, whatever you like, just_ please.

He'll say the words out loud, too, but Xander doesn't want that yet. He wants Spike to widen his legs a little so he can whip between them, catching balls and perineum with much less skill than when he whips Spike's arse, but the pain is more intense and Spike is seconds from actually crying now, actually giving in to the begging that's settled on his tongue, battering at his teeth.

Xander whips until he complains that his arm is tired, and Spike lets his head drop down between his shoulders because he thinks that's probably it, and it shouldn't be. He knows Xander's hard, can smell the lust coming off him, musk and rich, overwhelming need, and Spike feels empty and unfulfilled because of it. It's not a smell that's good, no matter how Spike used to love it, instead making his stomach twist and his skin crawl with the need to belly up to Xander's feet, promising anything if he'd just make that awful, hollow feeling go away.

But Xander knows, or says he does anyway, chuckling as he runs his fingers through Spike's hair. "I know," he repeats, his voice low and not very Xander-ish, hard and unyielding without the tremor of laughter that always lurks in his voice. "I know, boy."

Spike whines, low and animalistic because that's all he is, now, a live-wire of pain and need and confusion, aching for the hand to come back to his head, reminding him of his place. But instead it goes away, air swishing as it moves and -

 _SLAP_.

Spike bucks, wailing as Xander hurts him again, spanking him over his red, aching buttocks until Spike is just _gone_. He makes all the noises he's tried to hold inside, crying out in almost-sobs that turn into _real_ sobs when Xander starts spanking his cock. "I could have done this with the whip," Xander tells him, fingerprints branding red into his skin. "But I don't think you're ready for that, are you? No, you need to know, first. To **understand**."

He doesn't sound like the Harris Spike - if Spike were there - remembers, but it's still him. The scent is unmistakable, the same pattern for breathing, the same cock Spike's tried very hard not to fantasize about pressing into Spike's aching arse as Xander smacks cock and balls and belly and thighs. Spike is jerking with each slap, breathing whistling through his teeth, cock so hard he could scream for need of it, for a chance at relief and redemption and _Xander_ , because there's only Xander .

"This is what you've wanted." The words are the same as before, but Spike can hear them now. He can **see** them, shimmering in the air as he bucks back into Xander's hips, begging for more. More what doesn't matter, because he's Spike and the _point_ is more, ad because he knows what Xander wants now. There's no thought, not delineation of needs and supplies and positions in Spike's heads. There's just his arse, cradling Xander's naked cock between the cheeks, giving him softness to find friction.

There's just Xander's hand, busy making Spike scream and whimper and beg like a child, held to an impossible edge as Xander ruts against him, using his arse and growling, "Turn around, get on your knees."

Spike goes, because disobeying here is impossible, slipping down with a groan of pain as stiff muscles move again, panting as his face was slapped hard enough to make his eyes rattle in their sockets. "This is what you want," Xander's been chanting at him. "This is what you need, Spike. This is what you'll beg for."

And it's true, all of it. Spike moans out something like agreement because words are impossible to find, but Xander seems to understand. He doesn't stop talking, working his hand up and down his cock, tugging at the wrinkled sac Spike wants to suck and nibble on so badly he can feel himself start to drool. He's begging, _please please please_ under his breath, or at least that's what he thinks the words are, and Xander just smiles like death and grey, fathomless midnight and says, "You need **me** , Spike. You need to be **mine**."

 _Yes_ Spike wants to say because he does, needs Xander to give him blood and a room to stay in, needs Xander to hurt him, to make him remember how to be good. Needs Xander to touch him, to stroke a beautiful cock before his eyes until Xander gasps sharply, coming all over Spike's face until he's bathed in Xander and Xander's scent and Xander's need and _Xander's Xander's Xander's_

Spike wails as he's come on, his own cock pulsing in time with Xander's heartbeat since he doesn't have his own. He's rocking back and forth, driving his beaten body down onto his heels for more pain, then back up to try and taste the cock Xander hasn't put away, holding it while he pants back down to normal.

"That's better, now, isn't it?" Xander's voice is a croon, a gentle brush of warmth after the harsh caws of before, and Spike whines again, confused but happy because the voice is different, but it sounds pleased. "That makes you feel **much** better, now that we've got that straightened out."

Spike nods, carefully, not wanting to dislodge the come drying on his face. He's panting, ragged heaves of breath that does nothing at all for his tormented body, staring up at Xander with a kind of awe. Xander has _broken him_ , Spike will think later, laying against Xander's legs in bed, nursing Xander's cock for his morning fuck. Xander has taken the creature not even Angelus could snap and fractured him into a thousand come-stained pieces, gathering them up and remolding them into a creature who lives to be hurt, to be fucked, to suck with mindless fervor because making Xander feel good is all he can comprehend.

But that's later, when Spike is calmer and accepting. For now, he stares up at this dark-haired God who has marked and mangled him, panting with needs he still doesn't know how to express. But his new god understands, smiling benevolently as he caresses Spike's head like a master with his puppy, crooning wordless praise as he offers the head of his cock to lick clean.

Spike moans as he works, careful not to antagonize too-sensitive flesh, ridding Xander of any traces of his release - well, on Xander's body, at least. And then Xander is telling him to get up, to turn around again and spread his legs and lean back. And he does, confused, gasping when a strong arm wraps around his waist, Xander's mouth and nose nuzzling against his ear, heartbeat echoing through their bodies. "Good," Xander breathes, the hand not caressing Spike's bruised sides finding his arse and thrusting two fingers inside. "There, that's good."

And it is, it hurts, but it's good, its' perfect and Xander say Yes, and Spike comes and comes until he can't see, can't hear over the roaring of Xander's blood in his ears, and he knows that he's so many pieces that he'll never be put back together again except as Xander's whore, pain-addicted and compliant, months of careful preparation leaving him with no purchase to scramble upon.

So he sinks back down to his knees in supplication, offering his arse or his mouth to take care of Xander's current erection. And Xander sighs when he slides in, humming something that tightens Spike's body with pure, pure pleasure.

And

casual, and dismissive, because he's just so **angry** and **frustrated** with his life.

maybe in a meeting, when Spike's mouthing off like usual because he's broken but he knows how to hide, how to pretend, and he's always been good at protection, so he can give this to Xander. He can let his friends think everything is normal while Xander fucks him until he bleeds, screaming into the pillows because Xander likes to hear him hurt. And he gets into it, gets into to be sharp-eyed and mean when the others are around. He knows it pisses Xander off, too, because ti makes him hit that much harder and longer when they're alone again.

But one day it's different and Spike doesn't know what line he's crossed. All he knows is that Xander had just leaned across the sofa to grab Spike's neck and throttle him, so fucking **casual** as he snaps Spike's head back and forth until Spike feels like he's been poured into a bottle and shook, and he can't breath, but that's okay because Xander's giving him new bruises to touch when he's alone and cold and empty.

The scoobies are all breathless, staring, too stunned to even stop him. And just like that Xander stops, sinking back into his seat with a satisfied expression and babbling just _erupts_ around them.

Xander lets it for maybe ten minutes, until Buffy is back to speechless and Willow is red and Giles is about to start his Towering Rage Of Propriety and Xander just shakes his head and gives them a goofy smile. "Oh, come on, guys. It's not like it really _hurts_ him and hello, Iv'e heard all three of you mention wanting to do that to him before."

That gets spluttering because Spike's knows it's true and knows why the others have never done. "Xander, that's not the **point**!" Willow finally squeals.

"Why?" T here's a little of Spike's Xander in that. eyes black and full, staring at Willow until she flinches. Another grin, only a tiny bit sly: "he's quiet now, and isn't that what you wanted? So, Buffster. Thing that goes Munch, for to be slaying?"

And it's not better, and it's not good with Xander's friends, but when they get home Xander has Spike fix them a bath and Spike washes and caresses his body and then sinks down on his cock, riding until Xander moans and comes with a gentleness that he's never given Spike before, and Spike knows it's not really because of him, or for him, but he'll take Xander's pleasure however he can get it, and he only sighs when Xander starts slapping his cock, happily orgasming on pain and pleasure and Xander's dark, dark eyes drinking him in.

It's home, here.


End file.
